


We Can Work It Out

by outruntheavalanche



Series: Exchange Fic [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Community: original_works_ex, Demonic Possession, Don't copy to another site, Gen, OWO 2019, office politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 20:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: Zelda wakes up with a splitting headache, which really isn’t all that unusual.





	We Can Work It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosemarycat5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosemarycat5/gifts).

> Written for [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Rosemarycat5/profile)[**Rosemarycat5**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Rosemarycat5/) for OWO.
> 
> Thanks to G. for looking at this.
> 
> Title comes from the Beatles song.

Zelda wakes up with a splitting headache, which really isn’t all that unusual. Third time this week she’s rolled out of bed feeling like her skull’s full to bursting, either from an untimely migraine or the remnants of a fun night out with the girls. But Zelda didn’t go out with the girls the night before, so it’s probably a migraine. 

Ugh. Just what she needs.

“Fuck off,” she bites out, pressing her hands against her temples in an attempt—futile, natch—to relieve the pressure in her skull. She gropes around on her nightstand for her trusty bottle of Excedrin, but it’s not there. 

Where the hell’d she put the Excedrin?

An unfamiliar voice snakes through her brain at that:**_ I don’t appreciate that tone._**

Zelda lifts her head and drops her hands into her lap. “Who was that?” she manages to squeak. 

Did someone get into her apartment somehow? Was one of her friends fucking with her, trying to make her think a stranger was hiding in her bedroom?

**_Close but no cigar_**, croons the voice. 

Zelda’s fully awake, fully aware now, sitting bolt-upright in bed. Someone _must_ be screwing with her. There can’t actually be a _person _inside her, sharing space in her head. Or maybe she’s lost her mind. Insanity does run in her mother’s family. Wasn’t Great-Aunt Ingrid locked away in one of those places with the padded white walls?

The voice lets out an almost impatient sigh. **_You needen't trouble your pretty little head over me. You ought to just go right back to sleep._**

Zelda scoffs. “If you think you’ve got any authority over me, you’ve got another think coming,” she grumbles at no one. “I have work in a half an hour.”

**_Call out sick_**, the voice demands of her. **_You won’t be going in to work today. _**

“Nuts to that,” Zelda says, kicking off the covers. “I’m going into work today and you’ll just be coming along with me.”

Zelda tosses the covers aside and gets out of bed. And when she does, an entirely odd feeling comes over her, like she’s suddenly no longer in charge of her body. An invisible hand grips her and tugs her back, lifting her off her feet. It drags Zelda back, her toes dragging on the carpet, and deposits her back in bed. 

Zelda blinks at the bare white ceiling, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

**_I said you won’t be going in to work today_**, the voice huffs, having the gall to sound irritated.

“You’re not the boss of me. You don’t make the rules here, I do.” Zelda grabs yesterday’s outfit—a black shirt and pants—and climbs back out of bed. 

She meets no resistance as she pulls on the shirt and pants, so she figures whoever—or whatever—has taken up residence in her head approves.

After she checks her reflection in the bathroom mirror—fixes her hair, applies a fresh coating of makeup—Zelda leaves the cat a can of food and then she’s off. 

The voice is conspicuously silent until she unlocks her car and climbs behind the steering wheel. 

Something itchy tugs at the back of her mind, then: **_Where is it that you work, exactly?_**

Zelda starts the car up and pulls haphazardly out of the driveway. “The church. Administrative assistant,” she says, a little proudly. It’s her first real job since college; well, one she’d gotten without her parents’ help. 

Zelda’s not about to let this hallucination put her career at risk.

**_I’m not an hallucination_**, the voice insists. 

“Then what are you?” Zelda asks.

**_If you must know, I am a demon from Hell. One of Satan’s agents_**, it says, sounding a little proud itself. **_Someone very, very important is after me, in fact._**

Zelda taps her finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “Is that why you’re hiding out, uh, in me?”

**_If you want to put it that way_**, says the voice. 

“Is there something you do?”

**_Do?_** it asks.

“Like, well, Venom eats people,” she supplies, thinking of Nancy in the cubicle not too far from hers. 

Zelda doesn’t like Nancy very much. Maybe the voice wouldn’t mind—

**_I do not eat people_**, it snaps, sounding affronted. **_And what is a Venom?_**

“It’s a movie,” Zelda says, as she pulls into the church parking lot and finds her usual spot occupied. By Nancy’s sleek yellow sports car, of course. 

Something warm and almost pleasant tickles Zelda’s sternum. **_Is that Nancy’s car?_** It asks, sounding curious. 

“Yeah,” Zelda sighs, pulling in next to the yellow sports car. “She _knows_ that’s my usual spot.”

A key turns in Zelda’s soul, unlatching an invisible lock. Then something heavy lifts away and she feels almost empty. Zelda rubs uncomfortably at her chest and glances around, her eyes landing on Nancy’s car. She studies the light and the way it bounces off the hood.

Except the light isn’t actually light. And it’s moving. 

Zelda watches on in silent—well, horror isn’t quite the right word. Invisible nails gouge the side of Nancy’s car, grooving long, parallel lines. 

Zelda knows it’s wrong, but she can’t help but feel satisfied. Nancy only got what was coming to her, taking Zelda’s spot. 

Zelda’s ears pop like she’s in an airplane flying high over the city, and the heaviness is back in her soul like a weighted blanket has just been thrown over her. A vaguely evil weighted blanket with hints of sulfur. 

**_There_**, the voice says, sounding pleased with itself. 

“Uh, thanks. I think.” Zelda gets out of the car and heads for the building. The closer she gets to the church, the heavier the weighted blanket of evil feels on her shoulders.

She wonders about the optics of bringing a demon into church. What if it had lied to her and it’s actually pursuing someone she worked with? What if Zelda's just walked the means of their destruction into the building? 

How did one get a demon out of their head anyway?

Zelda settles behind her desk and tries to force away the disturbing thoughts, to no avail.

“Morning, Zelda,” Nancy chirps in that faux-friendly tone of hers.

“Good morning, Nancy,” Zelda mutters, distractedly. 

Nancy gives her an odd look as she disappears behind her cubicle wall.

Zelda clicks on her computer mouse and brings up google, then starts typing: _how do I know if I’m p_

_Possums?_ Zelda wonders, clicking on the first result. 

**Are YOU possessed with a demon? Just call us at 1-800-DEMON-BE-GONE!!!**

Frowning, Zelda clicks out of the website and goes on to the next result.

And the next one and then the next one. 

The voice remains suspiciously silent throughout. 

“Why are you in my head?” she mumbles under her breath. “Who’s after you?”

“Hmm?” Nancy hums loudly. “Was that directed at me?”

“No, Nancy,” Zelda replies. As if. _Mind your own freaking beeswax_, she doesn’t say.

**_I am being pursued by the one who intends to do me harm_**, the voice responds vaguely. 

“That’s not helpful at all,” Zelda says.

This time, Nancy chooses to mind her own business. 

Sighing, the voice says, **_It is my brother, Astur. I owe him one hundred souls._**

“You mean to tell me you’re hiding in my head because you don’t want to pay your brother what you owe him?” Zelda asks, incredulously.

**_I suppose when you put it that way…_** The voice almost sounds sheepish. If incorporeal demons currently hiding out in someone's head can sound sheepish. 

“I can’t help you with the souls, but I guess you can hide out here as long as you need to,” Zelda mumbles, grudgingly. 

_It’s rather ingenious_, she thinks. What demon would expect his brother to hide out in a church employee? 

**_I’m starting to feel a little famished_**, the demon says. **_Nancy’s soul is looking a little ripe for the picking, don’t you think?_**

Zelda turns, sitting up in her seat, and cranes her neck to get a look at Nancy beyond the dividing wall of her cubicle. 

“Hey Nancy,” Zelda calls out. 

“Yes, Zelda?” Nancy stops tapping away at her keyboard and turns to acknowledge Zelda. 

Zelda flashes her a toothy grin. “Let’s go out for lunch later. It’ll be my treat.”


End file.
